“How are you doing?”

“How are you doing?”

Yesterday was the sixth anniversary of my brother Tim’s death. He would have been 60 this year. As many of you know, he took his own life and the impact on all of us who loved him was devastating. What I want to share here is a set of e-mails between me and my spiritual director from three years ago at this time of year. Fr. Dan, remembering that Tim’s anniversary was coming up, had sent me a short e-mail, simply asking “How are you doing?” My response is very frank. I share this with you for a few reasons.

One: it means so much for people to remember, to remember anniversaries. Every year since she found out, a friend always shows up on my brother’s anniversary with a plant. I, of course, do not expect her to do that every year for the rest of my life, but she obviously knows enough about the pain of a suicide to know how much this touches me. Just saying those four words: “How are you doing?” can make a world of differences. Even if my answer is “I’m really doing fine,” I am still so touched that you have remembered.

Two: Losing someone to suicide is a grief that never goes away and is very paimnful for years. It is unlike any other grief.

Three: I hope that both my frankness and my sharing of how God meets me in my pain and Fr. Dan’s response to me may bring hope to someone out there who may be struggling in a similar way. . .

(I am editing some of this.)

Dear Fr. Dan,

How am I doing? It really depends these days on when you ask. But, if you have the time, I am going to try to verbalize a few things. I am suffering. I am suffering most acutely from Tim’s death, but also the many other losses in my life: at the end of my first of college: the tragic death in a car crash of a very close friend; my parent’s divorce and subsequent disintegration of my family; my brother Paul’s death in a car accident at the age of 24; my mother’s death; Tim’s violent death. They all kind of rush in upon me sometimes. . . . Some days I want to run away. Some days I just want to shout out: “My brother put a gun in his mouth and killed himself!” Most days I don’t even know how to pray. I get irritated by stupid questions people ask me about things. And I have to keep leading us [as Superior of our order] and making decisions and answering stupid questions with love and kindness. I feel alone and afraid a lot. Friends I have depended on are not there as they were. I could cry at the slightest kindness shown me.

And yet in the midst of the suffering, there’s a desire to offer it up, to kiss this Hand from whom it all comes. . . . There’s also a slight hope that I will come to know Christ and His love through it in a way that I would never know otherwise. There are pinpoints of light. Last night as I was going to sleep and dealing with fear and pain, I starting thinking, I’m walking through the valley of the shadow of death, the valley of deep darkness. And the words from Psalm 23 hit me: “I will fear no evil”–and I knew that Satan couldn’t touch me there. And then this morning when I woke early and was encountering the same things, the rest of that verse came to me: “because You are with me.” And that brought back to mind Dr. Regis Martin’s article on Christ’s descent into hell which, as you know, has spoken eloquently to my soul. Paul of the Cross (among others) counsels us to join our sufferings to the different mysteries in Christ’ life: “I will try with all my strength to follow the footsteps of Jesus. If I am afflicted, abandoned, desolate, I will keep him company in the Garden. If I am despised and injured, I will keep him company in the Praetorium. etc.” Perhaps Christ is inviting me to “live” in the mystery of His descent into Hell, to walk with Him through the valley of the shadow of death. I am once again re-reading Dr. Martin’s article, and once again it clarifies and strengthens me. There’s some experience this morning of His having entered through the ‘barred doors” of my heart, my own little “hell.” The pain is still there, but there”s also a knowledge that He’s there and I’m not alone.

I must thank you for your kindness in asking me how I’m doing. Four small words, but when sincerely said can make such a difference for people.And I don’t mean to complain by anything I’ve said here. Many people have been very kind to me these days, but the suffering continues.

It’s funny, isn’t it–when you’re in the middle of suffering and pain, it just seems like there’s no end, that it just has and always will be this way, and then a few little words: “You are with me” can open up a whole spiritual perspective that makes all the difference. The wounds are still there, but there’s a little balm. The mental torment can continue, but I don’t fear that I’m going crazy. Hell becomes the place where Christ descends and meets me in the scariest places in my life, where one one else can really go but Him.

Fr. Dan’s reply:

Peace be with you.

As you tell of your experience in these days, Paul’s words in Rom 8:38-39 seem so apposite: “For I am sure that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.” Christ grasps you firmly. He is walking with you, unobserved by your, through the valley of the shadow of death, and sustaining you by the banquet He has prepared for you. The reality of the fear and terror of events you describe, which leave a remnant of their foul odor in your memory even long after the events themselves have passed, only prove the more the reality of what you hope for. That hope is your anchor in Christ, which allows him–like a great heavenly winch!–to draw you through (not around!) those very terrors into the Kingdom. The psalm says that the banquet is set for you, but “in the presence of my enemies.” The greatness of these enemies is infinitely surpassed by the greatness of His mercy, which is always foryou. Keep doing what you know to do: relying on yourself for nothing, and on Him, and His infinite mercy, for everything.

Christ walks with each of you through whatever valley you are in right now.

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13 thoughts on ““How are you doing?””

God bless you, Sr. Dorcee. My heart goes out to you. Twenty-six years ago my sister took her own life. There’s been a lot of healing with Jesus crucified walking with me. The pain is much less now than in the first several years. It does get better. Thank you for sharing your faith experience. May you be consoled.

I am so very sorry for your losses. Prayers go out to you and your loved ones.
Thank you for sharing this. It brought tears to my eyes because I’ve been going through a stressful time. It’s a small, passing thing, but it has been a weight on our family. Last night, I was trying to remain calm about it and the verse from Romans came to mind, but I could recall it all– what a blessing to have it emailed to me today! Last week, I was pondering the stresses as well and picked up a flyer that had Psalm 23 on it.
Indeed, God is with us (and DEFINITELY WORKING THROUGH YOU!). It is so kind of Him to remind us of that. Hold tight to your faith and the words He has given us. And feel his snug arms around you when you are in those moments of fear and grief. I love your director’s words as well, “Christ grasps you firmly.” How true, even when we don’t feel it at all.

Thank you so much for sharing, for making yourself so vulnerable to each one of us. You and Tim are ever in my prayers, not just at this time of year, but throughout the year and the years. And thank you for be willing and loving in answering our often stupid questions.

Dear Sister Dorcee, You are such a gift and thank you for bearing your heart and soul in the way you did and also the response from Fr Dan. Who can know your pain but the Lord and who can give you strength to bear it but Him. Yet, He gives us friends on earth to provide the balm in a practical, tangible way as some have done for you as He ministers to your spirit with His word and his direction through Fr.Dan. I love you and pray for you always. Today I will send a special prayer for you and for Tim.

Thank you, Sr. Dorcee, for sharing something so deeply personal. I will try to heed your advice in reminding us about remembering anniversaries. You and Tim are in my prayers. Now I know how you were doing three years ago. And how are you doing now?

And thank you all for your comments, prayers and love. The e-mails in this post were written three years ago. My experience of Tim’s anniversary this year was actually one of great thanksgiving to God for the many ways He has met me with His love through Tim’s death. May God continue to remind each of us of how much He “grasps us firmly” in whatever situation we find ourselves in.

Thank you for sharing this. I’ll remember your brother Tim in prayer as I remember the other Tims that have also died: Tim Cirner, Tim Anderberg and my brother-in-law Tim.

I recall standing with Marla Rauch in Lorrie Anderberg’s kitchen days after her Tim passed and Lorrie said “everyone needs a Tim in their lives–as you know both Marla and I do have sons named Tim. We are blessed.

And so I say to you , you are very blessed to have a Tim in your life-he may not be here physically buy he will always be in your life and you will have lots of time in heaven to dance and sing and rejoice with him and with Jesus, who sustains you.

This week is National Suicide Prevention Week. I am resharing this post particularly for those who have suffered the loss of someone to suicide. It seemed to strike a chord when I originally posted it. My hope is that it is a comfort for someone out there.

Welcome to Witnesses to Hope!

"Bring your lamp to those without light, enkindle the flame of love in those without hope." (Tagore) ~from a holy card I picked up in Rome in 2005 . . .
I began this blog as a place to share some of the things that have increased my hope during challenging times--with the hope that it may do the same for others as well. I welcome your comments.

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